


My wheel is in the dark

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [34]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Dragon Age: Origins Quest - Flemeth's Real Grimoire, Female Friendship, Gen, Morrigan POV, Repaying Debt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Morrigan has Flemeth's real grimoire, and that should have been all she needed of the Warden.  She should leave now.  And she would.  Yet, she finds she cannot.





	My wheel is in the dark

Morrigan pondered the tome in her lap, the leather of the grimoire soft and supple under her fingers. Returned to her by a nearly chipper Caitwyn but days ago, it the last piece of the puzzle that, once solved, would see her free from Flemeth’s control for forever. True, solving the puzzle was in and of itself another matter entirely, but the means were within reach now.

Oh, she doubted very much that Flemeth was truly dead. The woman she called Mother was not one to be felled by the snick of a sword, even if she had transformed into a dragon. What Morrigan had now was  _ time _ . Time to work herself free of the claws and chains the woman—whatever she was—had used to make Morrigan do her will. Her will, which included accompanying the Wardens in order to capture the soul of an Old God.

Morrigan could walk away now and never have to carry out  _ that _ indignity, no matter what ancient being it might preserve. 

T’would be a simple matter. In the dark of the night she could gather up her most precious things and change her form. She would be well away from camp before anyone noticed, provided she left everything else behind. Her tent and blankets would only slow her down. And the gift from Caitwyn, the golden mirror? That was not necessary either, and perhaps leaving it would serve her better. A childish sentiment, one she should not treasure so no matter the hands that had given it to her.

She should leave. The golem kept watch with unblinking eyes, but even the golem could not watch all around itself. The task of defeating the Blight would not suffer for lack of her. The Circle mage—and her lip curled at having to think of that old woman as a mage at all—would serve well enough.

Yet, she lingered by her campfire, huddled in her blankets against the sharp bite of winter. 

Above, the cloud-haloed moon shone down, but it was not enough to illuminate the distance between her off-set camp and the main fire around which the others gathered. At that distant fire were voices raised and clamoring, bright and effusive. 

She could leave now and no one might now.

As if her gaze pulled on a string, Caitwyn turned her head and waved her fingers in Morrigan’s direction. It was not an invitation; the woman knew better to offer something Morrigan would refuse. It was… an acknowledgment. Caitwyn’s face broke into a grin, the expression on her features less and less rare even as winter blanketed the land in snow and the grimness of their purpose gained a new edge.

Morrigan echoed the gesture, if not the smile. Apparently pleased by the result, Caitwyn turned her attention back to one of the others, and the moment between them passed into the night. But a thread still connected them.

Flemeth had bound Morrigan with threats and knowledge and bitter truths. Caitwyn had done none of those things. Asserted no rights, assumed no power. Caitwyn had offered an ear to listen, hands to give, and a trust as yet unbroken. Ephemeral things, nothing of substance and weight; nothing that  _ compelled. _ Yet the gossamer web between them held her more securely than anything Flemeth had ever done to her. In the end she had defied the old woman, and  _ won _ , even if through a proxy.

Staying would only lead to the inevitable, and her survival dictated that she look to her own interests first. Yet it was not only her own survival that concerned her anymore.

The next morning found her packing up her tent and breaking her fast with a bowl of porridge and honey. The grimoire sat at the bottom of her pack to ensure it laid flat and was not unduly jostled about by the day’s journey. 

“Morning Morrigan.” Caitwyn’s voice was far too cheerful for so cold and grey an hour, but she did have a habit of rising early. The elf dished herself up a bowl of porridge and began to rummage around in their supplies for their dried fruit stores.

“I believe you shall find what you seek in the smaller pack.” She gestured with her spoon and earned a brief flash of a grin for her assistance. Now sure of purpose, Caitwyn grabbed a generous handful of dried fruit—a mix of berries and preserved apple—and stirred it into her morning meal. 

“Thanks for that.” Caitwyn sat on her heels by the fire, blissfully unaware of so much. She had to know, Morrigan thought, that not all was as it seemed. That there was more darkness in store for her. A darkness deeper than the one that Morrigan had borne witness to in the Deep Roads. And yet, there was a lightness to her that Morrigan had not seen before, had not known herself, but was made lighter herself by sheer proximity. 

Her friend was owed something more than to be abandoned now, Morrigan decided. 

Morrigan shrugged. “T’was nothing.”


End file.
